


Just to See You Smile

by ICarryDeathOnMyWings



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Aziraphale draws Crowley pictures, Aziraphale is... he's Aziraphale, Crowley is a bad boy, Fluff, Gen, High Schools, M/M, he just wants hi to smile, no beta reader we fall like crowley, off screen bullying, people getting beat up off screen, rough childhood, they're seniors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26675716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ICarryDeathOnMyWings/pseuds/ICarryDeathOnMyWings
Summary: Aziraphale notices Crowley is a very sad human after moving to a new school and decides that that is entirely unacceptable, and starts attempting to make Crowley smile.Or; This is a high school!au where Aziraphale is soft and leaves Crowley art and notes in his locker because Crowley is sad
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 82





	Just to See You Smile

**Author's Note:**

> This hit me in the middle of the day today so... here it is. Never written a human!au for Good Omens so... here ya go

Crowley didn’t have the easiest life. His father wasn’t around, had disappeared long before Crowley was even born and never bothered to come back. It was funny, really, all that could be learned from a man that had never been in his life, not even for a second. Like, for example, don’t let people get close to you. Or, less obviously, he got the man’s laziness. At least, that’s what Crowley’s mother always said, whenever she was around, which wasn’t all that often. She’d leave for days, sometimes up to a week, on a bender. It was fine though, Crowley didn’t mind so much because it meant he could be alone, it meant that he didn’t have to listen to her yelling and belittling of him. He preferred it this way. He liked to be alone.

He applied the same mindset to school; it was easier if he didn’t get close to anyone. Everyone knew him as ‘that kid’, the one that sat in the back, wore skin-tight clothes that were all black, accented with metal. He also wore sunglasses. The teachers had long since given up on telling him to take them off. If one didn’t know better, they’d assume the glasses were glued to his face. 

The boy was alone, he liked it that way. Really, he did. 

Well, he’d continue to tell himself that until he believed it. 

It was a wonder Aziraphale had turned out like he did. With an absent mother (absent from Aziraphale’s life, anyway. She had been there to raise his siblings, but the moment Aziraphale was born, she’d left), a functioning alcoholic for a father, and older siblings that were more like drill sergeants than family, one would think he’d have fallen in line with the rest of them; cold, dead set on proving themselves to parents who couldn't give less of a shit about their existence. The older of the Fells were ruthless, unconcerned with who they hurt on their climb to be and do better. Gabriel and Michael, who were twins and as close as a brother and sister could be, were lawyers (and neither could be considered ‘one of the good ones’. They were excellent lawyers, of course, they were, but they’d seemed to have lost their morals along the way). Sandalphon, the middle brother, was slowly working his way up the corporate ladder, and Uriel, the youngest before Aziraphale, was one of the ‘best’ politicians in the state. She was on a fast track to the White House if she continued to play her cards right, which, she would. 

Between them and Aziraphale, the age gap was quite a large one. Gabriel and Michael were older by eighteen years, Sandalphon by sixteen, and Uriel by fourteen. He wasn’t close to any of them and only saw them on occasion. It suited him just fine. Whenever they were around they’d tell him he weighed too much, that his aspirations weren’t grand enough. It wore Aziraphale down bit by bit but he refused to be like them. He couldn't allow himself to sink to their level; he chose happiness. 

Quiet, but not shy, and dressed more like a middle-aged librarian than a senior in high school, it was no wonder that starting at a new school halfway through the year, he was targeted by bullies. It didn’t phase him, though. No siree, Aziraphale was much stronger than he was given credit. Even with these kids breathing down his neck, it was his goal to spread happiness wherever he went. 

That was why, on Aziraphale’s very first day of class, his attention was drawn to a very surly young man sat in the back corner. It was the man’s overwhelming and oppressive sadness that made Aziraphale first notice him, but secondly, his brain realized how cute the redhead was. Desperately, Aziraphale wanted to see what he looked like without his sunglasses on. But, he quickly whisked those thoughts away. Best not to dwell on them, especially if Aziraphale was going to be cheering this boy up. It couldn't be misconstrued as flirting.

His seat wasn’t anywhere near the boy’s, which was too bad. Instead, he was beside a very beautiful young woman with dark hair and olive skin, she sat to his right and he leaned over to speak to her before class began, “Hello, dear girl-” She gave him an odd look, probably because, at the age of eighteen, no one had ever referred to her as ‘dear girl’, “I was wondering if you could tell me the name of the boy in the back?” Using his eyes instead of turning bodily towards him, Aziraphale hoped the girl understood who he was talking about. 

She followed his eyes, “Oh. Crowley? He likes to pretend he’s a bad boy, but he’s really a big softie… though he would kill me for telling you that. Name’s Anathema, by the way.” 

“Hello, Anathema!” Aziraphale held a hand out to her, which she took with a raised eyebrow. This new kid was odd but… not in a bad way. He was just… different. And his aura was good, couldn’t go wrong with someone who’s aura was as bright and welcoming as his was. She knew that Crowley would like him, eventually. 

Now armed with a name, Aziraphale set out to… well, he wasn’t sure what he was setting out to do. Make Crowley smile maybe? That seemed like as good a place as any to start. The bell rang at the end of class, it was shrill and distorted like it was playing through water. Crowley stood, shrugging his backpack over his shoulders. Though he was hunched over during class, when he stood or was walking through the halls, he made sure he was standing straight, taking up as much space as possible. It was important that when people saw a figure, dressed in black, moving like he was slithering as opposed to walking, they were intimidated instead of thinking he looked like a sideshow novelty. 

Aziraphale steeled himself. This was just another person, another fellow human who looked really scary but Anathema had said he wasn’t so bad! Aziraphale trusted Anathema, for some reason. He slid up beside Crowley, “Hello, dear boy! My name is Aziraphale, and I-” 

“Go away,” Crowley glanced at Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye, continuing to walk without even slowing down. Aziraphale had to put in some effort to keep up with him. 

“Oh, well- yes, I could do that if that’s what you wanted but I-” 

“It is what I want.” Crowley abruptly stopped walking, fixing Aziraphale with a look, “Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at-” 

“I’m not playing at anything! I-” 

“But I’m not interested, got it?” Crowley looked him up and down before moving away from Aziraphale quickly. They wouldn’t have another class together for the rest day, giving Aziraphale plenty of time to think about how he could get Crowley to smile. 

In the end, it was decided that doing anything in person probably wouldn’t be well received. Aziraphale asked Anathema where Crowley’s locker was and slipped a little piece of artwork in there. He wasn’t the best artist in the world, but it was something that took his mind off of things. This drawing, he thought, was a pretty good one. It was just a little landscape done in pencil, with a waterfall and a small pool. Finding Crowley’s locker wasn’t very hard. After slipping the folded up sheet up paper into it, Aziraphale felt a small surge of pride. It was odd, not knowing this boy at all but desperately wanting him to feel better. For a brief second, he wondered if that was how his siblings felt about their mother, but no. That didn’t make much sense at all. 

Crowley didn’t see the artwork until after school let out. It fluttered out of the locker and onto the ground. For a moment, Crowley was going to ignore it but curiosity got the better of him. He stooped down, unfolding it. What he had been expecting was a note from Anathema, she sometimes left ‘prophecies’ or predictions for the next day, but what he got instead was an artwork. At the bottom, in scrolling handwriting, it said, ‘I hope you like this! It was good talking to you today! -Aziraphale’ 

The redhead blushed, cheeks warming. No one had ever put in so much effort into him before, especially not someone he’d been so curt with upon their first meeting. Deep down, however, it was a good feeling, a great one that made his stomach turn over with butterflies. Looking around a few times, he made sure no one was looking before hanging it up in his locker with a magnet. If anyone were to see him hang it up it would irrevocably destroy his reputation. 

It continued. They didn’t speak, however, Crowley did murmur a thank you to Aziraphale after the first morning. Aziraphale would leave notes and drawings in Crowley’s locker for him to ‘find’ at the end of the school day. Crowley smiled to himself every time, and his locker was starting to get filled; sooner rather than later there would be no more space in the locker (and Crowley was dreading that day, he wanted his artworks to be hung). 

Despite Crowley’s private joy every time he got a new piece of art or a note, Aziraphale never saw it. Terrified of being rejected, or having Aziraphale decide Crowley wasn’t worth the time was enough to keep him mostly shut down. Even that was getting to be a bit too much, though. If Aziraphale thought that Crowley didn’t appreciate what he was doing… he loathed to think it. 

There were few good things in his life, Anathema was one, and Aziraphale, though they hardly knew each other at all, was another. But that’s where the list ended. 

For a week Crowley got notes in his locker. But, on Monday, Crowley’s worst fears were realized. There was nothing in his locker, only the previous five days of artwork. He tried desperately to ignore the sting in his eyes when the realization hit, but it felt awful. The air was sucked from his lungs. The opportunity to be friends had passed by in a blink because Crowley’d been a stupid, stupid idiot. 

Before he slammed his locker shut, Crowley removed his sunglasses and wiped his eyes roughly; at least he had something to cover his stupid fucking eyes. No one could see him cry, he’d look much too weak. But holy shit it hurt. It felt like someone had reached into his chest, pulled his heart out, and stamped on it a few times. Though no one was to blame but himself. 

After he’d pulled himself together, he slammed his locker, which felt nice for all of three seconds, until the echoing noise faded away and left only his thoughts in their wake. Fixing the sunglasses on his face, he marched outside, convinced that now he would be cold and callus for good. 

Upon stepping outside, he was met with something that made his blood run cold. Aziraphale was tucked up against the side of the school, books and papers spread all over the place, with his head between his knees. Without thinking, Crowley quickly made his way over to him, “Aziraphale?” He whispered. 

The other coward away, hiding from the man in front of him, “Go away,” He whimpered, “Please.” 

“What happened to you, Aziraphale?” 

Slowly, Aziraphale picked his head up. Crowley felt like he was going to throw up because Aziraphael’s face was swollen on the left side, lip split, and eye bruised, “Crowley-” 

“Who did this?” Crowley's head swam with anger, his vision turning red, “Who hurt you?” 

“Please-” Aziraphale reached out, gently putting his hand on his wrist, “Let it go, I’m fine. If you could just help me pick up, I-” 

Crowley nearly jumped out of his skin at the touch. Aziraphale was touching him, they were talking and Aziraphale’s hand was on his wrist. Surely he was going to explode with… with _something_. It felt so good, his skin was warm where they touched. 

“I’ll help you, I will.” 

Slowly, Aziraphale sat up and the two picked his things up. Crowley felt the loss of his touch like a palpable thing but played it off. not wanting to seem needy. 

After most of Aziraphale’s things were gathered, Aziraphale grabbed a folded up sheet of paper and handed it to the redhead, “Dear boy, this is for you.”

Crowley took it hesitantly, already knowing what it was. Knowing why Aziraphale hadn't been able to deliver the note made his blood boil all over again but there would be different times to be angry. Now, was a time to worry. Not once since this whole thing began had he opened up a drawing or a note in front of Aziraphale, but… it would be rude not to. The drawing this time was of a snake. It was beautifully done, and instantly became Crowley's favorite. He hesitated a moment, before looking at Azirapahle, though he didn’t remove his sunglasses, their eyes met and Crowley slowly smiled. It was real and genuine, and the first time Aziraphale had ever seen the other smile. 

The reaction Crowley got was instant. Aziraphale's responding smile was brilliant, and blinding and maybe, just maybe, worth ruining his reputation for. 

“You like it?” Aziraphale asked, almost, it seemed, surprised. 

“Of course I do, I love it. I’ve got the other ones you gave me.” Crowley folded it again, tucking it into his backpack with great care. Tomorrow he’d hang it with the others… maybe even get it as a tattoo once enough money had been saved up. 

“I’m so glad.” They sat for a few moments longer, looking at each other for a brief time before looking away. It was, after a long time of silence, Crowley that spoke first, “Would you… are you busy? I have peas at my house so you can-” He gestured vaguely to his own face to address the bruises that were on Aziraphale’s. 

Aziraphale smiled, “That would be lovely, thank you, Crowley.” 

Crowley got to his feet first and helped Aziraphale up onto his own. They started walking, heading in the direction of Crowley’s house, a place that not even Anathema had seen despite their years-long friendship. 

“Aziraphale’s a funny name. A good one but… funny.” 

“Named after an angel,” Aziraphale said, glancing at Crowley out of the corner of his eye. 

It looked as though Crowley was letting that sink into his head, letting it bounce around in there until he’d fully processed it and decided on his next words, “Seems a good nickname for you then. Angel.” 

Aziraphale blushed a deep red, but he didn’t object. No, he found he quite enjoyed the nickname, even if, somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was an endearment too. It was the start of a good friendship, one that one day would grow into something more. Maybe. Hopefully. 

And if the boys that had ever dared to lay a finger on Aziraphale turned up bloody and battered themselves over the next few days, but refused to tell anyone who’d done it, well, then, that was no one’s business at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed this! Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


End file.
